Glasgow Smiles
by Sally Cheffon
Summary: He'd take the butterfly and put it in a jar, laugh as it flutters in the poisons. Then he'd pin her to the corkboard, still twitching, under the label "The Wendy Bird". Jeff the Killer X OC
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you for reading this story. :) I appreciate constructive criticism, and your time. **

**The first chapter feels rough, but enjoy.**

Her feet would be the first things to go. Yes, the skilled little feet that brought her up to small-town fame. Hell, he'd use her own ice skates. The silver blades running along the bottom of her feet, always sharpened for the next competition, sent up a light spray of scratched-up ice. He felt the burning in the back of his head intensify, running down to his throat and fingers as usual. When she gripped the bottom of the shoe, he waited for her to slice open her palm, for the red to drip down onto the ice. That never came. With a skilled hand she grabbed the boot at the toes, spinning around, bent at her left knee, the other one extended out.

He'd go slow, sawing through beloved muscle and bone. Even if she escaped, she wouldn't be able to do what she loved anymore. How satisfying it would be to see on the Drerry's local news, _Local Ice Skater's Feet Ruthlessly Cut off by Madman. _

She didn't see him in the stands, freezing under his hoody. Wendy Spark was lost in her music, which was booming through the headphones so loud Jeff could hear an incoherent buzz.

He stepped down, placing his feet on the ice. She didn't look up.

It was only them two. The psycho and the skater. The murderer and the victim.

The burn turned to a pull. Jeff loved the feeling. It was intoxicating, making his joints relax, yet forced adrenaline into every vein and capillary, building up in his legs and arms, stacking higher until he couldn't take it anymore. By the time he'd reach her the sensation would be overwhelming, swallowing every pit of thoughts, leaving behind a breathless sensation. His moves would be just as fluid as her skating.

Then she yelled.

He'd been so caught in the feeling. In the time it had all set in she'd noticed him and stopped. She balanced on the blades, body straight and proper, hands cupped behind her back. He saw it as a sign of superiority, she saw a bad habit.

"No shoes on the ice." Jeff looked down. Mud trailed behind him in sloppy ovals. Somehow he'd managed to get almost to the center of the ice. A few more steps and he'd have her neck under his fingers, banging her head into the floor.

The words were on his tongue, ready to be hissed out. He stepped forward, but this was no rough patch of ice. His foot slid heel first. Jeff's world was shifted from the girl to the ceiling. Cobwebs hugged the beams and vents. The no shoes rule either came from the fear of slipping and breaking your neck, or the idea that a few steps will ruin the Zamboni guy's perfectly smooth ice. Either way, the shocked little intake of breath she made infuriated him. As if the little bitch cared.

"O-oh my god," she giggled, "Are you okay?" It took a moment to register. Not the words, but the hand extended to him. After seeing his face, most people would run off screaming. She. . . didn't. For a naive moment he felt kind of flattered. Maybe someone else saw his own personal beauty. Of course she didn't. He noticed her squinting. The girl wore glasses, which were somewhere in a gym bag. He also still had his hood up despite the embarrassing tumble.

Wendy stretched her hand out a little too prematurely. Her mother taught her that you should only offer help when you can see the person. Just another entry in "Martha's Words to Live By". One thing her mother didn't teach her but probably should have is to be careful. Her mom was kind of a hippie, believing in fair love and all that gunky stuff. After all the years of being drilled with sticky-sweet philosophies Wendy grew to be a tolerating person. Tolerable, perhaps

But even she had to falter when the blurred figure became a little more set in reality.

That looked painful.

Somebody had cut from the corners of his mouth until they hit the jaw bone, creating an extension of a smile. Wendy's Joker obsessed friend called it a Glasgow smile. It wasn't bleeding, but the edges were still red and rough. Scabbed over, like it had been cauterized. But not stitched up.

What hospital would just let a mutilation fester? Unless. . . he hadn't gone to get help.

His "smile" wasn't the only thing burned.

Wendy felt stuck in his bug-eyed gave. The man's eyelids had been burned off, leaving behind a border of black. A yellow hue hung around the blood shot whites.

She didn't think too hard on his skin, only noticing it was freakishly white. His hoody might have been the same color, before the blood and grime came in. Conflicting thoughts popped up.

He did this to himself, somebody else did, it's old, it's new.

Either way, it left a psychotic look in his eyes. They shined in odd areas, reflecting the dingy overhead lights. Odd. His tear ducts _had _to have been dry as jerky.

Then his hand shot out.

Wendy sucked in another annoying breath, this one for her own selfish fear. Fear for her life, for her feet, for the Olympic tryouts she dreamed of. His knobby knuckles twitched, the veins shifted in and out of view, faint rivers under scabbed, white flesh. For such bony hands, they held unbelievable strength. He pulled her ankle until her balance faltered. The hand, once extended, flailed in the air. Her face was pulled tight, eyes wide in shock. The lack of friction on the ice worked against poor Wendy. She was on the ground, hissing in pain.

Two things hit the ground; her brand new Iphone, which shattered, and his knife. Wendy went for the blade. Jeff had the upper hand and pushed her away.

The ice was biting her palms, sending painful pulses up and down her arm. Down on the ground the cold truly crawled. Fear of the lunatic mixed with dehydration. Breathing felt like swallowing air through a cracked reed. The sounds showed it.

The air grew heavy with shuffling. Wendy kicked, Jeff grabbed. She looked at the knife clenched between his teeth. It sat there, gleaming between two layers of nasty. He wasn't silent, either. When the cuff of her yoga pants slipped from his fingers once again, he let out an aggravated growl. Wendy swallowed. The dryness refused to fade. Even her audible breathing bounced off the walls. The building felt colder than ever, but to Wendy she had never felt more numb.

Adrenaline sparked. She couldn't take any more of his creepy face. A buzz skittered under her freckled skin, making her face feel constricted. And then it all released.

She reared back her foot that wasn't locked in his grasp and stomped into his leg.

"Let go!" she yelled.

Wendy watched it leak out from the dress pants. A stream started to get closer to her perfectly white shoes. She scooted back, digging the back of the blades into the ice. He stood, making her feel even tinier. He stepped towards her. Another slip wouldn't happen, even with her silent prayers. Heh heh, he was walking with a limp.

"Now go away!" She slid up, eyes filled with hate. Jeff didn't stop.

"Why don't you just shut up and go to sleep." he said. The air grew colder around their shared bubble.

She raised an eyebrow. Her bangs sank down into her face. Wendy flicked them to the side, never removing her eyes from him. "Why don't you go fuck yourself."

A stare down commenced. Wendy wanted him to blink. Jeff wanted to yank her head up by the hair and slit her slim throat. He took a long, threatening step. Five feet was a little too close for comfort. She skated back, hands in fists. Her hair was a brown, frizzy mess.

Another step. Another slide back.

His sudden move scared Wendy. But the girl was prepared. Jeff missed his mark, falling to the ground. He could feel her pride coming off in waves.

"You little-"

"Thank you for the little exercise, but I have places to be. If you want me, I'll be at the local police department." She turned and skated right, wallowing in her freedom.

Jeff sat there, watching her shake her tiny curves until she vanished from sight. A slamming door told him he was alone.

She got away.

The little knit walked out on him. Made him a fool.

He climbed up, face in half-annoyance.

He'd tear her throat out.

* * *

**Not a fan of the ending, Wendy seems. . . Sue-ish? Oh, well. It'll get better.**

**Promise. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Holy crap, somebody likes this story. o.O**

**Thank you sooooo much!**

**I'm not confident with this chapter, but enjoy. I love the reviews, follows, and favorites. It makes me feel happy. :D**

The snapping bra straps and babble didn't stop Penny's frantic voice from bouncing around the locker room. "And you didn't tell anyone!?"

Wendy hated the locker room. Her fear didn't help.

"Only you." she said. The room was a gas chamber. Perfumes and dust clouded up into a thick, smelly smog that packed itself deep into noses, bringing sneezes and coughs. Under the chemicals hung a definite whiff of sweat and dirty laundry. No air flowed through the ventilation system. Wendy glanced at the metal fan; a barrier against the dark tunnel that snaked around on the shadowed ceiling. Some of the room's dust had sunk onto the blades. The bottom layer was probably from 1955. An occasional stream of cooler, but still hot, air disturbed the stale atmosphere.

"Why? What if he comes after you or something?" Penny pulled on her Doctor Who T-shirt. It looked black, not dark blue. The bulb could be brand new and still glow a dingy yellow. Wendy blamed the wiring. She wondered if anybody else knew this, or if they blamed the air like she used to. A distinct dripping came from the showers even when nobody used them.

Wendy found an issue with the large windows running at the upper part of the walls. Any creep with a latter could peep on Eldridge High's girl demographic.

The spot behind her forehead sizzled with an acidic burn. Each blink meant sparks dancing around her eyelids.

"If I tell somebody they'll be dragged into it." Wendy hugged her knees. She had sat out P.E., hoping to keep off her wrist. It started as a throb and stiffened to a high-strung sprain that burned with each movement. And her head hurt with worry.

"Then why are you telling me?" Penny couldn't hide her disappointment.

They fell into a depressed silence that felt oddly fulfilling.

. . .

"I know somebody who likes you." Wendy placed a hand to her forehead. She threw on the Beatles when she got home, hoping for some sort of comfort. Her basketball shorts swished around her knees with maddening consistency. The same static sound followed her up the stairs and around the house, making poor Wendy feel like she wasn't alone. Normally this would be a good thing, but her parents left for a two month trip and her brother was out with his boyfriend. Only two people could be there besides her: Penny Welsy or Jeff. And Penny was halfway out of state to spend Christmas with her grandmother. She locked all the windows, put a chair in front of the front and back door, took the batteries out of the garage door opener, and checked the power box continuously.

Derrick left two hours prior, hair gelled and jeans a little too tight. "I'm going out with Sam," he said. Wendy silently begged him to stay. "Don't let the Boogie Man get you." He wiggled his fingers in her direction. Monsters, at least the fictional ones, were the least of her worries. Through her shaking thoughts she replied,

"Nobody cares about the Boogie Man. Stay away from the woods, Slendy might getcha." She repeated his gesture. Derrick rolled his eyes.

Now it was her, Penny at the other end of her cracked phone (her coach found it in the garbage), and the maddening _swish swish swish_.

"I'm not in the mood, Pen." She turned the lights of the bathroom on. The shower curtain was quickly pulled down. Wendy wouldn't give the douchebag the satisfaction of hiding.

Penny yelled something on the other end. God, her little sister was screaming like a bitch. "Sorry, I'm back. And you will be." She sounded so smug about it.

"And why is that?'

"Because it's Ben."

Ben... Ben. . . Ben Afflick?

"Ben _Afflick_?" Wendy nearly dropped the phone.

"Yeppers. God, Carrie, shut up!"

Ben Afflick. . . Holy fuck.

Wendy felt the seriousness melt into a dreamy lightheadedness. She knew Ben well, suffering from a major crush since fourth grade. The guy was a blast to talk to, knowing how to hold a conversation of both random hilarity and solemnness. Not to mention rather cute. If Penny was joking, heads would roll.

"Lindsey told you, didn't she. She just wants to see me fail, you know that, right?" Wendy let doubt out for a bit.

"No, he told me. Now go take off those ball shorts, put the knife back in the case, and dab on some makeup because he's coming to pick you up in twenty minutes." The noise levels dampened.

The Beatles turned to Queen downstairs. That would make since if she was using an Ipod, not her stereo system.

She stepped silently to her bedroom where she slid the door partially closed and hid behind her bed at the window. Wendy choked down the heart in her throat, feeling her body slow until it shook against her own will.

"P-Pen. I think you-know-who's here."

"Ben's there already!? He's fast, well go downstairs and say hi!" Wendy would have face palmed.

"No, I think it's J-Je-Jeff." Wendy wanted to jump up and lock the door. Her psychotic version of common sense told her not to.

_I'm the only closed and locked door down the hall, I bet nobody's in here! _

Horrifying thoughts of Jeff reenacting The Shining made her feel more pissed than scared.

Her phone screen suddenly went into hibernation and wouldn't come back on.

It didn't take long for the house to grow silent again, and Wendy stepped back into the world. At that moment, Ben took the steps to her front door and knocked. She leapt into the air, thinking of going back upstairs. Imagine how stupid she felt when she saw that it was in fact her Ipod that changed the songs.

After a few silent curses, she stopped Another One Bites the Dust. She nearly stomped to the door with the intent of screaming in the person's face. If it was Jeff, she'd kick him to Russia. Lucky her, it was Ben.

. . .

Jeff watched them from the outside. They smiled, he talked, she laughed. Wendy didn't change clothes, but she'd taken off the knife, which he'd snagged from her house before coming. He ran the pad of his finger over the blade, letting it add another red mark. The rain seeped into his hood. His hair was slicked to his face. Jeff caught himself looking to the sky, letting the drops wet his eyes and pool into the scars. That guy had taken HIS Wendy to a Starbucks, and could the guy blend in anymore if he tried? His hair was under a hat, and his button up came down over skinny jeans that ended in Chuck Taylors. Wendy said something with heavy arm gestures and he laughed.

Fucking Hipster.

. . .

**Very little Jeff in this chapter, not much going on. Things will pick back up, I just needed to establish Ben as a character since he will be important.**

**Ta Ta!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Slendergirl66- Thank you. :D**

**Stripesthetiger- More pwnage to come. I promise. If I lie, you get a cupcake.**

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**XAnimeXFreakX- that's one of the reasons I've taken up fanfiction; Practice. I've always been bad with exposition and displaying characters. Thanks for following the story!**

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**. . .**

He watched her come and go for three days, mostly with the boy, which he despised, or with her Siberian Husky. Jeff liked its name: Smile, Smiles, Smiley. All short nicknames for Smilers. Most of all he liked her nightly ritual; change clothes, take the dog for a walk, come home and try to Google him. Each time she'd stare at the screen as if the words would bite her. Then she'd type one letter, two, and then stand to pace, body jittering. After a few deep breaths she'd settle back down and continue her searching. It made him feel flattered. One night she wore her glasses. Big, thick-framed things he hated. They made her green eyes too small to see from a distance, and when he couldn't see them he couldn't imagine stabbing them out with a tooth pick. Soon enough they disappeared into the soda cans on her desk. Her brother had picked up her contacts, Smiles having chewed apart her last box.

Once she took a look through the garage door window. He ducked from view, knowing she'd seen him. Another time he threw stones at her window like a horrifying teenaged sitcom episode.

Jeff followed her to the ice rink the night he did the drastic thing. She arrived right after the sky turned dark with him hanging several yards behind. Once in a while he'd toss a rock and hide. Her freaked glances made his real smile creep up. He loved it when the muscles pulled and his natural happiness came.

It mostly came before and after he got what he wanted.

After her little date three days before hand, she'd gone inside smiling like a maniac. In that moment he wondered how she would look like him; perfectly curled hair mangled with dirt and blood, brown pigments of freckles turned white.

And her green eyes never able to be hidden from silly things like blinking.

That night he pulled out her rollers, wondering how her hair looked naturally. Turns out it was bushy as hell.

In his own Googling, he found her Youtube channel. One video was titled "First Time on the Ice!" and was ten minutes of foggy footage of a little Wendy falling to the ground and stepping instead of gliding. Yeah, Jeff only lasted around a minute and a half before clicking on a suggestion. He instantly recognized Wendy's hair and oddly square body. Years of figure skating must have shaved down any enjoyable fatty tissues. The brown curls didn't move. Most of the hair spray depleting the ozone layer probably came from her. Wendy looked fucking hot in the short red and black skating dress. Each leap hiked it up her thigh until he could see her hip.

He couldn't wait to filet her alive. Ben could have the organs if he wanted. Well, except for a kidney. Jack wanted that.

Wendy surprised him by twisting around, aiming a small flashlight towards his direction. Jeff stood his grounds, hands in pockets. Her almost too big eyes grew to dominate her petite face. Jeffery watched her thin lips open and close as if to form words from deep within her shocked little mind. With the terror and lack of makeup she looked twelve.

No words shook their little world. Only the light buzz of silence and a distant dog broke the fuzzy orange night, the thick fog held the streetlight's ominous glow, making her feel uneasy and claustrophobic.

He took a step forward, looking to her, showing off those psychotic eyes.

She spoke first. "Uh, hi?" And with that she bolted out of the parking lot, splashing in puddles of black inky water until the ground turned to jelly under her sneakers. Wendy's legs pumped furiously, sending her over logs and pushing aside scratching branches. The bumping near her ears accompanied the heart that swelled against her breast. Breathing became ragged with each frantic half-skip-half-sprint. Jeff pursued with more frenzied movements. He didn't leap over logs like she did, nor simply brush off the protruding branches. Instead he ripped them from their places each time one tried to scratch up his already perfect face. His breath was not rough or panting, rather more frustrated growls than anything else. Every time her neck was in reach she'd gain up speed. How the hell could she run like this? She'd obviously never been chased by the police, and nightly jogs didn't work this much. He blamed adrenaline. Adrenaline and a desperate wanting to live. Go home, pet her dog, curl up on the coach and enjoy a rerun of American Horror Story while her brother's upstairs.

That wouldn't be happening tonight.

The cough drop she had been sucking on slipped from her lips in a ball of saliva. The teens' choking and panting filled the air, accompanied by crumbling leaves and cracking twigs.

"Leave me alone, dammit!" Wendy snapped a branch from a nearby tree. She directed the sharp, splintered end at her attacker in hopes of scaring enough feet between them in order to make another mad dash. Jeff didn't flinch, instead he reached into his waistband. A flicker of silver revealed Wendy's missing kitchen knife. _Mother fu-_

"Hi, Wendy." he said. She stabbed at him, testing the air, hoping to show she meant business. Would the world throw a fit if she murdered one of the most prolific serial killers?

She felt the fear melt away, being replaced by determination and anger. "What do you want?" Jeff took a tentative step.

"Stay back!"

He lunged. Wendy didn't have time to think before he had her on the ground, hands pushing her neck in. He restrained her with his body.

"I didn't like how you kicked me. I was supposed to do the stabbing that day." She howled for help. He put a hand over her mouth. "Look who's in trouble now. . ."

Wendy sank her teeth into his leathery palm, salty and clammy. Her eyes widened when he didn't even react. While her mouth filled with copper and her legs flailed and arms pushed, he pressed onto her neck until she fell limp in the leaves. When she passed out, the air around Jeff felt swollen with silence and fog.

His remnants of lips lifted in the corners.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jeffswoman666- Well thank you. :)**

**slenderxlover- I see it as one of my weak points. :( And wait no longer!**

**I love all of my followers and favoriters (That is so obviously not a word). It makes me feel so happy to know that people are actually taking the time to read and enjoy my story. :D Thank you all.**

**P.S. I own nothing relating to Creepy Pasta. And I just realized that Ben has the same name as a certain *Coughs* Pasta character and is a letter from sharing the name with a famous actor I didn't know existed until my friend pointed it out.**

**Ha!**

**So on with the show!**

**. . .**

**Graffiti found spray painted onto the upstairs' desk:**

_**Welcome 2 hell**_

Outside of Drerry was a small ghost town once home to loggers but now inhabiting stray cats living off of the diseased rodents. One of the buildings was once a store with an ornate tile ceiling that drooped in places. In some places the ceiling had fallen completely, covering the floor with its sandy rot. Smells of mold and dust smacked you in the face when you walked in. The only source of light came from the five windows. There was the front door, which read "NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACCIDENTS", the hole in the wall next to the open back door, the two rear windows that were curtained by rusted metal mesh and dead vines, and the two upstairs. It wasn't enough, for the building was large. The cat that slept on a tarp would always bolt when Jeff entered. Water dripped down, making the sandy floor moist and the little drops echoed in the entire building. The corpse of a mocking bird sat in the middle of the room, wings splayed out and eyes rotted out. There was sort of an upstairs that was only an open floor with wooden columns and the, as mentioned, two windows. Both had the same metal mesh but no vines. One corner curled into the downstairs bathroom, posing a threat. When Jeff carried his prize up the debris-littered stairs, vines ran against his shoulders. A lone desk sat at the other end of the room, the matching chair sitting in the center. On the wooden desk sat several mildewed books that either crumbled or clumped together when touched. The pages had been glued together by mildew.

He stepped around a hole before dropping Wendy from his shoulder. She hit the floor with a thud.

. . .

Ben ran his fingers through his brown hair, staring at his feet.

_"Can't talk right now, beating the maid." _He heard penny giggling in the background before the beep sounded.

He did just that. "Hey, Wendy. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight? Penny told me about how you liked collecting B-movies, and I found Sleepaway Camp in my movie collection so. . ." He hung up angrily. How stupid, asking her if she wanted to watch a movie she'd mostly have no interest in. Well, _he _wouldn't have interest in. Ben ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His phone started to buzz, sending him into a shocked jump. Instead of Wendy, as hoped, it was Penny.

"Hello?" He didn't like how his voice choked.

"Hey, Pinhead, have you talked to Wendy?" Penny said.

"Pinhead" shook off Penny's sarcastic anger before replying. "I just called her. She didn't reply to my texts. Why?" The sounds of clacking dishes on the other end of the line became to focal point for ten seconds.

"Because she isn't answering my calls."

"Did you piss her off?"

"No." Penny blew into the phone.

"Try calling her brother." he replied.

"Don't have his number." They fell silent.

"Want me to drive by her house?"

"Sure, and be sure to film it when she sends Smiles after you, stalker." And with that she hung up.

. . .

_Drip _

Wendy shivered, a cold breeze nipping at her nose and ears.

_Drip_

She dared to open her eyes to the horrifying world of rot. Sunlight blinded the poor, almost helpless girl. Wendy clambered to her feet, wiping her hands on her sweatpants. They looked so dirty, as did her blue T-shirt. The silver locket hanging down between her breasts burned unbelievable cold against her goose pimpled skin. It was so cold it hurt her bones, turned her sinuses runny, forced her knees to clatter and arms to wrap around her chest. Why was she here? Where exactly was this odd place called here? The smell pushed against her mind, turning her dizzy. She wondered if it was a dangerous mold making her eye sight dilate.

_Twip_

A cold drop hit her shoulder and ran down her back. On the other side of the surprisingly bright room was a door with chipping maroon paint. The color of the room was odd. Once wall was rugged bricks poking out from behind patchy drywall. White squares almost touched her head, and she wasn't very tall. She placed a hand on one of the square wooden beams. Blue paint flaked onto her palm like when she used to chew the paint off pencils and the yellow would get stuck in the crevices of her hand. The other wall, adjacent from the brick windowed one, was painted light blue. A brick column painted peach ran up the center.

"Weird." She didn't remember exactly how she got there. Then it hit her.

_Jeff._

Why hadn't he just killed her? Kidnapping would lead to too much trouble, and she could count on two hands how many people would notice her missing. And what the Hell was up with this place?

Ugh, the boards felt terrifyingly soft underfoot. Wendy feared the floor would follow the corner's lead and curl into itself, letting her fall and break her back. Which was better: Death by bad footing or being choked with her long intestine? She stepped to one of the large windows with all the care in the world. The mesh was too tight laced to fit a finger through, and was not the type of metal to budge.

_Iron, most likely. _she thought, walking over to the door. Wendy rattled the doorknob until she was sure it clicked.

Too bad it wouldn't open.

She waited an hour, pushing the windows and doors with the hopes of breaking through. Neither budged. While sizing up the drop from the corner to the lower bathroom, a shuffling came from behind the mockingly flimsy door. Soon enough she found herself staring at Jeff. His hoody was much more bloody than normal. Wendy tried to imagine it wasn't fresh, but the glistening blood on his hands and boots reminded her it wasn't so.

"What do you want with me?" she croaked. Jeffery knotted his fingers in her hair and yanked. He loved how she peeped like a frightened bird.

"I want you dead." He untangled his fist from her scalp. His voice was unbelievably raw and growly.

"And I want to live." Wendy stated, shrugging her shoulders.


	5. Chapter 5

_**SlenderxLover-Nooooooooooooooo!**_

_**Blackwolfie- I plan on actually finishing this story. :) It's a first, this is the farthest I've gotten in a story.**_

_**Gaurdian of Fear- Perfect timing! **_

_**Thank you to all my favs and followers. I hope to not disappoint you. :)**_

_**Short chapter is short.**_

_**. . .**_

**Graffiti found carved into a fallen wood beam:**

_**I fucked your mother. Betty Jane still smells like dog**_

He would of glared if he could. She turned away from him and walked to the window. The sunlight highlighted the lighter parts of her hair. Wendy looked pale and fragile. Yet, in some way, she radiated confidence that Jeff wanted to rip apart. Her hands were clasped behind her back, shoulders squared, chin up and lips thinned. She was so infuriating. It was hilarious. She was always trying too hard to look unaffected. Instead of cowering, she displayed a shell of blank stares. Jeff began to laugh. At her, at the situation, at nothing at all. It was just funny.

She turned to look at him, her freckles pooled together in confusion. They looked so unbelievably ugly. Wendy knitted her eyebrows. He sounded positively _mad_. "What's your problem?" she asked.

"I'm pretty sure that won't be happening." Jeff giggled maniacally. Wendy couldn't help but frown.

"And what makes you say that?" She began to advance towards him, eyebrows raised. Wendy looked directly into his eyes. To her surprise, she saw rings of icy blue around the pin-hole pupils. A dark cloud passed the sun and shrouded them in shadows. In the dark she felt somewhat safe, as if nothing could see her- it was the reason she couldn't sleep without an eye mask. But under Jeff's gaze she felt hollowed out. Exposed, even. She felt that if she hid he'd find her like he had night vision. It wasn't just a silly feeling made from late night slumber parties. The heaving in her chest didn't stem away from that web sight she stumbled upon, in which it had pictures of crime scene photos. Seeing Jeff in real life made the rock in her lungs sink to the pit of her stomach, only to be replaced with the most depressing sense of fear. And worst of all, helplessness.

He wasn't behind a computer screen or in blurry black and white. He was here, masked in shadows five feet away. His fingernails were scratching into her scalp, his whiskey breath in her face, how he smelled of dirt and blood and a nice cologne or natural sweetness. Jeff was here. And he could kill her if he wanted to.

Then there was those irises. . .

It was something human. Not just black, white, and red.

His words made the little flower of humanity shrivel up and die.

"You're weak," he started, "Small, weak, and stupid. What kind of person leaves the house when they know a serial killer has it out for them?" She stared at him dumbly. Wendy resembled a baffled goose, or a rabbit. His words left little Wendy dumbstruck. Her mouth was slightly hung open in shock, eyebrows lifted. Wendy scoffed at him. He absolutely adored how she looked around the room, trying to look nonchalant and uncaring as usual. She was obviously trying to avoid his intimidating gaze.

She finally met his eyes. "Excuse me? You're the one who brought me to this place. Useless my ass. The only reason I'm here is because you need something."

He shrugged, hands going to his hoody pockets. The concealed knife was cold. Cold but growing warm in his palm. Body heat; something else human that he didn't deserve.

"What if I brought you here to entertain me?" Jeff growled. His head was tilted down, but his eyes stayed on her.

"So far you've only called me useless and weak. How is that entertaining?" The little brat just crouched down to the floor and sat down! She didn't even look the least but scared, more determined. Jeff, of course, because he had nothing better to think of, hated it. He slumped down in front of her.

Wendy tried to ignore how her knees almost brushed against his black pants. Up close she saw they were not dress pants, but rather jeans. There was a slim hole running along the knee cap.

"I don't need to answer that." His cockiness leaked from his skin like sweat. She swore she could almost smell it.

"Then answer this," she said, hugging her knees, "When will you feed me?" A pink bubble emerged from between her lips, swelling till it hid away her face. It popped, clinging on her nose before being sucked back in. Where did the gum come from?

"Whenever I want to." He crossed his legs, just like her.

"In that case," She began to chew more obnoxiously. "Gum?" And from her pocket she dispensed a packet of bubble gum. "There's two flavors. Mango and strawberry or spearmint." When she talked, her words smelled of fruit.

"And why are you offering?"

"I don't need to answer that." He nodded his respect before pulling out a piece wrapped in shiny blue foil.


	6. Chapter 6

_**SlenderXlover- Yes master, please, just don't beat me again!**_

_**Naw, go ahead, I like it. ;D.**_

_**Just a warning; for this story I switched up Jeff's backstory because I CANNOT stand his original backstory. The premise is the same, but with more character development and a higher age.**_

_**This, my dear readers, is why you don't write under the influence of a sleep aid. You get crappy writing and even worse grammar. Sorry.**_

_**The book referenced in this chapter, and also inspired the summary, is The Collector by John Fowles. It's amazing, highly recommend it. **_

_**. . .**_

"Is it true?" Wendy asked, digging her plastic fork into the fast-food spaghetti.

Jeff realized if he wanted their fun to last longer, she'd need basic human things he had learned to push off until he almost passed out from starvation. Wendy was a typically privileged teen like he once was. Being weaned off the convenience of snack foods would take some time. Because she was his guest, he spoiled her slightly. So while out killing some kid, Jeff remembered what Wendy had yelled while he was walking out the door.

_"Don't come back 'til you have Italian food!" _He wanted to butter her up, make her, some how, feel trust towards him. Besides, while he may be a psycho, he had class.

He found her by the window, tilting back in the depleting chair. Mold and moss hung off the legs, and while it may have been dry, the wood looked swollen with moister. It's a wonder it didn't snap under her weight. All 125 pounds.

She kept staring at the empty lot behind the building. Steel wool drifted across the sky, threatening snow. The dead trees veined up to the sky. What leaves didn't fall clung down lower on the trees. They were an ugly, moody orange she couldn't stop staring at. Drerry sat down in the hills in a miniature valley. Everywhere she looked was a distant rounded black wall. Her skin was still frozen.

Wendy didn't even acknowledge him. Instead she shifted the chair, catching it before it reached the tipping point.

"Have you ever read The Collector?" He pondered her question. Jeff had never been one for reading. After the incident he never picked up a book. No school means no required reading.

"Why?" he asked. She rolled her eyes to the window again.

"So this guy is obsessed with this chick-"

"I don't feel like story time." He grips the paper bag tighter.

"Shut up." she snapped. "Anyways, this guy likes this girl. By the way, he collects butterflies. So to make this chick love him he kidnaps her. Ha, symbolism! She ends up dying, and she never fell in love with him. Moral of the story; some people are too strong for Stockholm syndrome."

Jeff chuckled. "You're not here because I love you."

"And you are no where nearly as charming as mister I-collect-pretty-petrified-things." She stared at the bag in longing. "Kind of expected you to know it. Seems to have a cult following from serial killers." Wendy seemed sad at this statement, as if the murders of the world had tarnished the wonderful name of an obscure classic. And in the publics mind, they had. To Jeff, he had no interest in symbolism or literary references. Thinking of this reminded him of the Batman villain the Scarecrow, and how he had a thing for nursery rhymes. This trailed back. . . trailed back to liu. liuse Winters. Son of Peter and Margaret, brother of Jeff. He had a love for Batman comics, especially the villains. Before Jeff grew up, they'd build a fort in his room and read the comics till midnight.

He should've killed her for the unwanted nostalgia rush. In fact, why hadn't he already? The cut in his leg throbbed, reminding him of her bratty outburst. Jack had stitched the wound for him. Thanks to her, he owed Jack five different body organs, all from different people. Jeff had acted on impulse when he put her on his shoulder and carried her to his makeshift home. So why was she still alive, slamming the legs of the chair back to the ground. If the floor busted and she fell through, neither would mind. Wendy could run or avoid his idea of "entertainment" and Jeff could let gravity do the work he wimped out on doing.

"So what does that have to do with anything?" he asked. Wendy pondered on why he sounded on the verge of tears every time he talked.

Oops, she almost made it sound emotional.

His words were heavy with anger, scratching through one ear and into her brain where they plopped down on the couch to stay a while.

"A psychopath with no idea on human emotions kidnaps a girl." She brushes away her bangs. "You have an obsession with things that don't move. Sure, they aren't pretty like butterflies, but to you they are. So you collect them through a series of newspaper clippings. You see people and butterflies as the same thing; too pretty to be normal bugs but worthless enough to be stabbed to a corkboard." Wendy chokes down her speech, shaking over stuttered words and muddled letters. She'd obviously thought about what she'd say. Hopefully it would make a point.

It didn't.

"Pointless, but fun to stick with needles. That's the perfect metaphor." He flashes her a grin before sitting on the window sill. Jeff purposely blocks her view so those eyes would be on his.

"That's exactly right." he almost whispers it, reaching for hair.

She inhales when he fingers a curl. "So why am I not in the display case yet?"

"You ask too many questions."


	7. Chapter 7

Guardian** of Darkness- The more I think of it the sillier it seems. Oh well, I guess I can develop on the metaphor and have it make more sense.**

**This chapter is short and definitely not my best. But I feel it needs to be in here. Thank you all for the favs and follows and comments and all that good stuff! I've been sick for the past two days, so sorry for unbelievable suckage.**

**I'll start writing better tomorrow, promise. **

**. .** .

"Is it true? What you did?" She twisted the fork around like a ballet dancer. "Killing your mom, dad. . ." She challenged him, goading. "Liu."

Shock. Shock is all she felt when his fist bashes into her jaw. Wendy tastes blood instantly. It isn't copper, it's salt and iron. The pain throbs up into her teeth before settling back in her cheek. Even her eye hurts slightly, leaving her flabbergasted and staring at the wall. Jeff had punched Wendy hard enough to give her whiplash.

That's not enough for Jeff. He tangled his fist in her hair and _fucking yanked_. Yanked until twisted strands came out between his fingers. Tears streamed down her reddened cheeks, turning the freckles orange. Suck ugly things, like dirt on a pretty canvas. Perhaps he could. . . He smacked her again, this time harder. Wendy's head hit the ground with a sickening concrete thud. She scratched out a loud scream.

"You bitch! Fucking whore!" He bashed her head into the ground one more time. Wendy's petite nose was trickling little trails of blood. Jeff considered running downstairs to retrieve his camera, the sight was so beautiful. No time for that. He stood, placing a sneakered foot on her heaving chest. Wendy didn't even look at the monster in front of her. He had come down from the high of anger. She'd read somewhere that anger gave the brain a feeling like being on cocaine. Jeff was obviously flying high. Those damned eyes burned straight down into her soul. That image of his angered eyes, huffing chest, and frowning lips would be forever etched into her mind. His white skin made him look like a ghost, and she swore his hair was wilder. Wendy stared back, her look pleading with his killer side. She didn't want to challenge him this time. Things had gotten serious when he reached into his pocket for a little rectangle. The metal glinted right into her eyes.

"Please, just let me go!" she begged. Jeff would have none of this. He pushed his foot against her sternum until she started coughing. The hollow chokes could never take the place of her screams. He knew they'd be beautiful.

"Go awa-" Jeffery slid his foot up to her neck, but not before flicking open the lighter. Never before had a tear-drop shaped flame around the size of her fingernail looked so menacing. "You wouldn't _dare_."

But dare he did. Wendy couldn't just breathe. Oh, no. She couldn't think either. As he knelt down to her hair, she thought of everyone in her life. Of course there was dear old Mom and Dad. Derrick, Smile, Penny and Ben, Coach, too. Besides, wherever she'd go after death definitely did not have an infinite collection of exploitation films.

She felt the heat on a single clump of hair. Wendy dared to look. What she saw was horrifying. The hairs curled up, an orange ember rising up each strand. The burnt pieces flaked off to the ground as gray ashes. And it was only a matter of time till her skin was burned, too. Jeff had picked the perfect lock. One that trailed up her forehead and to her scalp. Her skin would be burned on contact.

Wendy choked down the smoky smell while Jeff seemed to love it. He breathed in, as if the moment were erotic. For a guy who most likely got off on pain, this was expected.

"Jeff, please." Wendy grabbed his ankle with both hands, almost gently. He couldn't help but turn away from the little flame. The blood had mixed with her tears and snot. For the first time he noticed how pretty she actually was. Her face may be plain, but it had been perfected by a skilled artist. "I-I'm sorry."

He reached out and smothered the flame. Despite the burn in the process, she sighed.

"Just learn to keep your mouth shut for once in a while."

Wendy was left alone to her world of rot. A world of dust, freckles, and the echo of an ancient door slamming.


	8. Chapter 8

SlenderXLover-** I always look forward to your reviews, so here's an update. **

**Please don't kill me. :3**

**. . .**

It snowed that night. Drerry was buried under twelve freezing inches. Not a soul dared to venture out into the storm, except a single teenaged boy on a mission. To his ear was pressed a phone, in his other hand a flashlight for when the dodgy streetlights made him feel uneasy. The snow was mostly untouched in the endless line of yards. A single swing set creaked, turning the suburban landscape all the more terrifying. He could feel eyes coming from beyond the golden glow of the streetlights. The dull glittering gave him a false sense of beautiful peacefulness. Nobody was around, and the area was mostly silent except for the horror movie soundtrack. His feet crunched on tire track ice, echoing along with the swing's chain.

"Miss Christopher?"

_"Yes, who is this?"_

He brushed away a strand of hair. "My name is Ben Afflick, I'm a friend of Wendy Sparks. She's a girl you coach."

_"Wendy? Why? Is something wrong?"_

"I haven't seen her since yesterday, and she's not answering her phone."

_"Odd. I had found her phone in a garbage can at the rink a while ago . Got it back to her, though." _Miss Christopher sounded about thirty with a thick southern accent.

He came to a halt in front of a normal sized home. Ben recognized the dead ivy trailing up the water spout, the porch railing that needed to be repainted, and the monstrous oak tree hiding away the houses roof. He always wondered about her house. Why it was light blue, whether it was a true Victorian, why the girl living in was such a mystery, stuff like that.

The house looked quaint in the fall, highlighted in fluttering orange leaves. In the dead of a cold winter night it resembled a living creature lurking just in the shadows, not enough to be unseen, but enough to unnerve you.

_"Want me to drive by her house and check on 'er?" _

"No. I'm already there, and there's no lights on. Can you meet me at the rink tomorrow? Noon?" Ben moved up the snow covered steps. He was the first to step in it. The door was unlocked, leading into a dark foyer.

_"Of_ _course. You take care now." _

They hang up at the same time. Then starts a clicking on wood flooring. "Wendy?" he calls.

The slow clicking turns to clacking, and clacking to growling. Ben stared into two light blue eyes. Smile bared his fangs at the strange intruder. The dog was a black mass moving around him.

Smilers took one sniff of Ben's coat and ran out into the cold.

"Wendy's going to impale me on a spear." _If she's even alive. . ._

Ben looked up the stairway, hoping to see her up at the top in a retro outfit, A Clockwork Orange tote bag on her shoulder. They'd go downtown, browse stores for movies, typical things seventeen year-olds do.

He checked her room. On the desk was a tipped bottle of nail polish. It was a light blue, a shade she always had on her fingernails. Ben dabbed his finger in it. He didn't know much about nail polish, let alone how long it took to dry, so he didn't know what to think when his finger came back wet. It shouldn't have been a big deal. She forgets how she left it open and knocks it over. So what? But the blue puddle made a black worm curl within his gut.

. . .

"You want me for something." Wendy couldn't look into those eyes again. When he snatched up her face and stared into her soul, she focused on the ceiling.

"You're pathetic. What is with people and thinking they have some sort of importance?" Here it was again. The whole "You're useless" speech.

"Because they're people. With feelings and emotion." she shook out. Maybe Jeff would listen this time, or her words would have some sort of impact.

"But that's _pointless!_" Jeff pushed her down harder than intended. Wendy's elbow crashed into a busted board. "There are six billion other people with emotions. It's not special, it's normal." He began to pace the room.

"Get. Out." She stood, too. Jeff found her challenge amusing.

"What did you tell me to do?" Wendy wanted to scratch his face off.

"I said get out." How infuriating she enunciated each word with enough venom to kill a man. But Jeff was hardly a man anymore.

He stepped forward, she stepped back. This pattern continued till Jeff had enough.

Wendy shrieked like a rabbit under his hand. One continuous scream echoed out into the desolate street. The brick wall dug into her back, snatching her hair. If Wendy remembered anything it was the scratching against her arms and his hot breath on her neck.

"You don't tell me what to do." His whispering lips grazed her ear. Wendy suppressed a grimace. "Orders are stupid, especially coming from a tiny little girl like you." Jeff pulled away, still clutching her bird-boned shoulders. "Now, we're going to sit down right over there and hold a normal conversation."

She spat on him. Wendy Sparks spat onto one of the most brutal serial killers in history. He hit back, literally. His hand slapped her slick cheek, just enough for her to get the idea. The baffled goose look was back.

"We're going out. And you're gonna keep your mouth shut, alright?" Jeff slid is hands down her bare arms, retreating towards the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm writing another story involving Batman because I'm a lonely nerd. It's called "Painting the Roses Red" and is an OC story like this one. If you're interested, check it out.**

**SlenderXLover- Yes, ma'am. (Goes to documents).**

**Guardian of Fear- Thank you, oh powerful one.**

**LuLuCalliope- Well, it's not every day somebody gets away from Jeff. And I know what you mean. Being cut deep scares me, so the idea of having my face forever scarred so deep sounds painful. **

**. . .**

She hates him. Wendy hates the way he almost drags her down the stairs by the wrists, two twisted smiles focused on her. Jeff seemed almost joyous. But the joy hung to each falling snow flake. She should be playing Seven Minutes in Heaven with Ben, praying to pull his name.

But she felt his happiness was sincere.

They halted to a stop in front of a vine covered gate. The bars were crooked, double doors unaligned.

"I like your eyes, Wendy." She saw his words in the form of cloudy puffs. Wendy would've wrapped a jacket around herself if she had one. Snow fell into her shoes, biting through her thin socks. Stray snowflakes fell down, getting caught in her hair and eyelashes.

"T-that's random." Wendy tried to chuckle away the awkwardness. Jeff wouldn't let it settle.

"They're large and green. Not a lot of things sparkle around here." He started to tug off his hoodie. Wendy could only watched in perplexed silence. Soon it was a barrier between them, hanging from his hands in its dirty glory. She stared at his oily hair. He was now dressed in all black.

He flicked his hair from his face. "Aren't you going to take it?" She was shocked. An act of kindness? Surely he was planning something.

Wendy plucked the hoodie from his hand. Crusty blood flaked off onto her fingers. It felt stiff with dirt and perhaps sweat. His body heat still hung in the sweat shirt's cotton weave. "You're gonna freeze in nothing but a tee shirt." She warned. His arms were completely hairless. Jeff's black shirt wasn't as dirty as the hoodie. He knew she'd take the bait, being the idiot she was. This was in no way a nice thing. First he'd brainwash her, earn her trust. Then he'd make his move. Somebody needed to understand his views on life. To steal her metaphor, he'd take the butterfly and put it in a jar. Laugh as it fluttered around the poison soaked cotton ball. Her wings would be grass green like her eyes. Once it was barely lapping its wings, he'd pin her to something with a pearl tipped needle, still twitching. How pretty she'd look among his other victims.

She shrunk into herself when his hand touched her lower back.

"Why are you so jumpy?" he asked.

"You're kind of a serial killer."

She could run. The woods weren't too far away. . .

Suddenly, a little brown rabbit darted from the lower brambles. Perfect.

"Oh, look! It's so cute!" Jeff turned to where she pointed, and while he was distracted she bolted into the trees.

. . .

"Give her a few weeks, she probably went with her brother." Miss Christopher shouldered her designer bag. Being a private coach didn't pay well, but that didn't stop her from buying designer sweat suits. "If it'll make ya' feel better, I could call him." The "No Smoking" sign was sitting right above is right shoulder, yet he still flicked his lighter off and on. The rink was cold as ever, slipping into the winter clothes. The smudged guard glass blurred out powdered, scarred ice. His jeans rubbed his skin raw thanks to the plastic bleachers.

His twisting stomach didn't help his discomfort, either.

"You actually have his number?" Ben peered up at her under furrowed brows. Of course she'd hold out this important pawn in their situation.

"Yup, I'll handle that tonight. Alright?"

"Alright."

. . .

She actually made it. Granted, not very far, but it was good enough to fuel her smugness. Wendy spent ten minutes in the woods, managing her breathing to make as little noise as possible. She abandoned his stiff hoodie next to a tree before turning right, hoping to throw him off. But of course he would catch her when Smiles ran up and began barking for her. The shock stilled her for a good three seconds, enough time for Jeff to tackle the already immobile girl to the ground. Thinking back on it, running was stupid. Although he was slightly distracted and at ease, he must've been ready for any sudden bolts. It was a power lurking deep in his bones, ready to pump out enough adrenaline to catch a fleeing victim. The guy probably had a plan for when a purple spaghetti monster bursts onto the scene.

The image of Jeff, the horrifying serial killer who kidnaps teenage ice skaters, getting distracted by the ole "Hey, look!" shtick would be with her forever. Later she'd dig it up and laugh at it.

Smiles saw the man tackle Wendy into the snowy dune at the base of an old oak. Since he was a puppy, he loved to jump into any pileups of people. That's exactly how the huskie reacted to the otherwise dark moment (Jeff was bashing her head into the ground, screaming profanities at her).

The sudden warm, fuzzy presence made both of them pause. The dog leaped up and down like a child on Christmas morning, tongue hanging from between his dripping jaws. Jeff winced when a paw suddenly thrust itself into his face. Wendy was the least bit annoyed. She laughed on, digging her fingers into his fur.

"Smilers! The heck are you doing out here?" She regarded the moment as if the odd factors didn't, well, factor in. She giggled when her beloved pet lapped her cheek, forgetting how Jeff called her a bitch and whore just seconds earlier while trying to break her neck. Her dirty clothes and oily hair vanished, and she imagined herself in the small backyard on Larson street. Smiles would be licking away, nails digging into her plush coat. Jeff wouldn't be a maniac, instead he'd be a demolished snowman she fell into when Smiles pounced onto her back.

And as the snow bit through their T shirts, Jeff couldn't help but smile, too.

Wendy Sparks would make a very pretty display. A pretty display of Jeffery Winters's genius.


End file.
